Kaiju Goo and Personal Space Bubbles
by The Readers Muse
Summary: Hermann had been wearing his every other Friday sweater on a Thursday, he hadn't slept in twenty-four hours and the whole thing had been weirding him out way too much to focus. He can multi-task – obviously, but asking him to do that after three cups of coffee, a possible sweater vest conspiracy, no sleep and an entire box of chocolate covered donuts is a bit of a stretch...
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Pacific Rim or any of its characters, wishful thinking aside.

**Authors Note #1:** This is my first Pacific Rim story, so I am pretty much testing the waters. I have not yet had the pleasure of reading/watching any other source material other than the movie itself. So, in respect to that, this story is based on the material we have been given during the movie and the movie alone.

**Warnings:** This story is meant to fit in post movie. *Contains: adult language, adult content, possible consent issues, sexual content, movie spoilers, smut and more!

**Kaiju Goo and Personal Space Bubbles**

_**Prologue**_

He would like to preface this whole clusterfuck by saying that this was _so _not his fault. It was an accident. _Really._

Hermann had been wearing his every other Friday sweater on a Thursday, he hadn't slept in twenty-four hours and the whole thing had been weirding him out way too much to focus. He can multi-task – _obviously_, but asking him to do that after three cups of coffee, a possible sweater vest conspiracy, no sleep and an entire box of chocolate covered donuts is a bit of a stretch – even for him.

In fact, if you wanted to get picky, this was actually all Hermann's fault. Technically.

Okay, so maybe that's a bit of a stretch, but hey, rockstar, remember?

It wasn't like he _knew_ this was going to happen. In his defence, this wasn't some grand conspiracy to get Hermann Gottlieb freaky and naked. He was a genius, not a frickin' fortune teller.

He didn't _mean _for things to go all pear-shaped any more than he'd meant for his lab partner to get a mouthful of bright purple goo and turn into a hybridized version of the Incredible Hulk and Pepe 'le Pew all mushed together into one, rather unstable, yet mind-numbingly hot package.

Not that he hadn't enjoyed it and all, but _christ _on a-

Okay, so, maybe he was getting a little bit ahead of himself here.

* * *

**A/N #1:** Thank you for reading. Please let me know what you think! Reviews and constructive critiquing are love! – I realize this is shorter than all get out – but it really is just a prologue of sorts. The next chapter should be up tomorrow.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Pacific Rim or any of its characters, wishful thinking aside.

**Authors Note #1:** This is my first Pacific Rim story, so I am pretty much testing the waters. I have not yet had the pleasure of reading/watching any other source material other than the movie itself. So, in respect to that, this story is based on the material we have been given during the movie and the movie alone.

**Warnings:** This story is meant to fit in post-movie. *Contains: adult language, adult content, sexual content, movie spoilers, smut and more!

**Kaiju Goo and Personal Space Bubbles**

_**Chapter One**_

It had been three weeks since they'd sealed the breach. Three weeks since he and Hermann had scrambled their neurons in the name of science, danced circles around the Kaiju overlords (or whatever the hell they actually called themselves other than the douche canoes of the known universe) and helped save the world. Three weeks since they'd lost Striker Eureka, Crimson Typhoon and Cherno Alpha. Three weeks since the world _hadn't _ended - three weeks to the day, actually.

And if he was being completely honest, the past twenty-something days had been both the best _and_ worst of his entire life.

It was weird coming to terms with the fact that the world wasn't going to end and even weirder when you stopped to consider the fact that it was _you _who had helped make sure of it. He kept waiting for the feeling to fade, but so far it hadn't.

And that was a good thing.

He thinks.

Life since Operation Pitfall had been _good_, because in a unanimous decision, the various governments around the world decided to do a complete turnaround on the Jaeger project and now they were getting funding up the ass. They had it all, the fancy new toys, the annoying minions with questionable master's degrees, the new Kaiju samples, the TV guest spots.

For the first time in his life everything really seemed to be coming together.

Hell, for perspective, to Hermann's_ great_ pleasure, articles were being published on them and their accomplishments by some of the foremost names in their respective fields (other than themselves, of course) every other week. And to _his _excitement, it seemed as though every media personality, every politician and rock star wannabe wanted an interview, a sound bite or a surprise lecture at some far flung academy that handed out greenbacks instead of toilet paper whenever you needed to take a shit.

And, did he mention got an entire aircraft carrier of new Kaiju samples?! Because he did and it was _awesome_. He was so far into his happy place he was halfway convinced that reality was for chumps.

On the other hand, life had also been kinda lame because, other than the fact that they'd lost a lot of good people and half of Hong Kong had been reduced to a pile of twisted metal, as selfish as it sounded, he just couldn't shake the fact that it was all static up in his head-space.

He could feel Hermann up in there, in the drift, in their _connection. _The man was caught up in his brain like the back wash from some all-encompassing cosmic entity and honestly, he still wasn't used to it. He wasn't used to having another person sharing his brain, he wasn't used to thinking in colors – thinking in _equations _when all he really wanted to do was dissect a particularly sweet Kaiju spleen – or – you know – take a dump in peace or whatever.

He wasn't used to seizing in place in the middle of brushing his teeth, doubling over as his leg _throbbed_. He wasn't _used_ to nearly toppling over in the chow line as a pulse of warmth radiated from the web of strands that marked where their brains were connected. Knowing without having to ask that the man had simply remembered something amusing and had let his thoughts get away from him. The intimacy of even the simplest things, when shared by two, was almost staggering.

Hell, sometimes he woke up in the middle of the night thinking he _was_ Hermann.

But other than that? _Nothing_.

Nadda.

_Zip. _

And embarrassingly enough, he not so secretly_ hated_ it.

Because the only thing worse than having Hermann stuck in his head was having Hermann stuck in his head and _not _talking to him.

It'd taken him about two days to figure out that Hermann was avoiding him. At first it seemed as though everything was fine. They'd both been about five seconds away from crashing – running off adrenaline, stimulants, booze and far too much coffee by the time they'd finally managed to pull themselves away from the victory celebrations.

They'd made a lot of noise about heading back to the lab to tie up a few loose ends. But in reality, despite their best intentions, when he'd nudged Hermann towards the crew quarters instead, the man hadn't even uttered so much as a mewl of protest.

He was pretty sure they hadn't even thought about it when they ended up crashing on Hermann's bed, fully clothed and completely uncaring about anything else other than that they both needed to sleep the sleep of the dead if they ever wanted to function again.

It'd seemed all but par for the course when he'd grabbed the man by the collar, towing him inside after he'd jimmied the lock and let himself in. He'd left Herman speechless and deliciously ruffled in the doorjamb as he'd loosened his tie and started unbuttoning his shirt. The man hadn't been long to follow.

And if Hermann had lost his cane somewhere in between the door and the bed and had been leaning more heavily on him because of it, he certainly hadn't registered it.

It hadn't mattered that this _wasn't _them. It didn't matter that they'd never done anything like this before, or that Hermann snored, or that they _might_ have accidentally woke up spooning. It hadn't mattered because despite it being a thousand different levels of _wrong_, it was also undeniably _right_ at the same time.

And perhaps, in the end, that was what it all came down too. That big, fat realization that was about as subtle as a Category Four Kaiju steamrolling through suburbia. _Honestly, he knew how the man felt._

You couldn't hide anything in the drift. Everyone knew that.

But hell, if Hermann wasn't giving it the old British try, anyway.

_Jerk._

Consequentially, neither of them were really making any traction on the whole, _'I've kind of loved you since I first met you,'_ thing that they'd apparently both been guilty of since day one.

Christ, they were _both _hot for each other – like, since the dawn of time, basically! How perfect was that? This was _his_ life? I mean really, this was a movie-worthy revelation. He'd spent the last bazillion years thinking the man could hardly stand him, let alone think of him fondly. And here they were, closet-piners for each other.

If he had to describe it, he figured the feeling was somewhere in the middle of: 'I want to suck on your eye teeth and fuck you right through your stupid fucking blackboard.' And: 'you are a glorious, frumpy asshat who I can legitimately see spending the rest of my life with' kind of feeling.

It was actually kind of overwhelming. He still wasn't sure if he should be freaking out or melting into a pile of happiness. Only they weren't doing _any_ of those things. Instead, they were stuck in this awkward kind of holding pattern – only, you know, _without_ the actual holding.

Honestly, he was kind of insulted that the man was ignoring how ridiculously perfect they were for each other. He knew why. _He'd seen it_. Hello, he'd been in Hermann's head. But really, something had to give. They were basically the mechanized version of soul mates with all the perks and none of the pesky doubts. And yet, here they were, _not boning_.

Life just wasn't fair.

Did he mention he got new Kaiju samples? Like a ton of them?

Because yeah, that's kinda important.

* * *

**A/N #1:** Thank you for reading. Please let me know what you think! Reviews and constructive critiquing are love! – The next chapter should be up in a few days.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Pacific Rim or any of its characters, wishful thinking aside.

**Authors Note #1:** This is my first Pacific Rim story, so I am pretty much testing the waters. I have not yet had the pleasure of reading/watching any other source material other than the movie itself. So, in respect to that, this story is based on the material we have been given during the movie and the movie alone.

**Warnings:** This story is meant to fit in post-movie. *Contains: adult language, adult content, sexual content, movie spoilers, smut and more!

**Kaiju Goo and Personal Space Bubbles**

_**Chapter Two**_

So, while Hermann was being impossible, stupid, pig-headed and insufferable, he was being uncertain, jumpy and probably a million other things that were just as bad. And frankly? Neither one of them was happy.

So, call it fate, an accident, the universe taking a pot-shot or a Kaiju-coated miracle, but somehow, while he was elbow-deep in a slab of not-quite-fresh Kaiju blubber babbling about bone density and mating behavior, he managed to find the single-most awesome yet completely terrifying super weapon no one knew the Kaiju even had.

Because when the thing under his fingers firmed rather than gushed like everything else, he yanked it clear out of the carcass and onto the examining table. He'd yelled, excited enough to tempt even Hermann away from his blackboards as he'd turned on his mag-light. They both really should have known better.

"Hermann! Get over here! You _so_ need to see this!" he trilled, scrambling for the dissecting tray as the older man sighed, long-suffering, before shuffling over to see what the fuss was about.

"Newton, I hope you aren't planning to-" Hermann began; face pinched and tone bordering on imperious before he was cut off in mid-word. Which, not so coincidentally, was the same moment he poked the edge of the gland, a viscous purply-red lump about twice the size of his fist, with the edge of his scalpel and - _boom._

For fuck's sakes, he'd barely even _touched _it!

He saw his life flash before his eyes as Hermann's mouth fishtailed, his face speckled with the same vibrant purple fluid that covered nearly his entire front. But the expression on the man's face _wasn't _anger; it wasn't even disgust or fury. No, it was much worse than that.

The gland quivered in his hands, leaking a thick trail of purply-red splooge all over the table as he looked up at his lab partner in horror. _Shitsticks._

Surprise was first, childish and uncertain in the way it trickled down from his temples, deepening the frown lines around his mouth until the mathematician looked like a child freshly pulled from his mother's apron strings. Like someone who'd been left to face this unexpected hiccup utterly and completely _alone_ as a good, quart-sized glob of the stuff oozed down his chest, staining his ugly sweater a vibrant coal-black.

It was the disappointment that had followed that'd been the real killer. _Because aint that just a bitch? _In fact, he wasn't sure what was worse, Hermann being disappointed in him or the fact that once again he'd skipped through all the red tape and forgotten the whole 'look before you leap part' of the scientific method.

_God, he was an idiot._

He stood there, dumbstruck, caught between a nervous giggle and outright panic before he was up and moving again. He tossed his gloves behind him and reached out - herding Hermann towards the chemical shower, the one the mechanics had managed to cram into the tiny storage room on Hermann's side of the lab.

"Shower, shower, shower," he chanted, nearly towing the man through the door by his elbows as Hermann yelped, the sound undignified, yet welcoming as he tried to tell himself that sometime down the road, they would be laughing about this over hot toddys and bad donuts as Hermann's fingers sunk deep into the meat of his shoulder blade.

"I_ know_ Newton!" the man shouted, stumbling as his cane slipped on a wet patch. Hermann spluttered, gagging as he leaned up against the wall, letting him worry with the shower and chemical cycle as he spat out a mouthful of the stuff, fingers trembling as he wiped his chin.

He could practically _taste _the adrenaline.

He yanked on one of the knobs, praying to every deity he didn't believe in for this to work as the pipes clattered, clanking and groaning above their heads as water started spitting from the shower head.

The man looked like a reject from one of those Nickelodeon slime specials that aired as 'Reruns from Yesteryear' on the civilian live stream. Hermann's hair was plastered to his head, looking about as pleased as a wet cat as he ran a hand through it, slicking it back from his forehead in a vain attempt to keep the gunk out of his eyes. But it didn't matter. The damage was done. The purple gloop was still streaming down his clothes, speckling across the floor and collecting in the creases, leaving a sticky trail in their wake as he all but _shoved_ the man under the spray.

But honestly, the only thing that registered was the fact that the man's words were worrisomely absent of their normal snap. Because this was different. _Bad_. This was different from getting entrails in the coffee grinder or fucking around with Hermann's blackboards after an especially brutal all-nighter. This was like, category 'Fuck ton' Kaiju bad and they both knew it.

And it was _all _his fault.

They knew what Kaiju junk could do. They'd seen it eat right through metal alloy – the best Earth had to offer – like it was no more than tissue paper. Because if it could do that to Cherno Alpha-

He punched the sterilization protocol into the data pad with a bit more force than necessary. All but bouncing in place as the program slowly started to load. He double and triple checked the tanks. There was more than enough cleaning agent in them, why weren't they-

He didn't even have time to enjoy it as the layers came flying off, (which, _god_, it wasn't like he'd imagined this moment a million times before or anything) ignoring the occasional: "I am perfectly capable of undressing myself, Newton!" or "Ouch! Get your bloody elbow out of my eye, you imbecile!" in favor of dancing around the ring of dry tiles as Hermann leaned up against the wall for support, taking half his life just to fumble with the button of his trousers.

"Shut up, shut up! _Oh my god! Just_ _shut up_!" he bugled, a human tornado of flying limbs and rolled up sleeves as he darted forward , tugging on the man's shirt buttons, trying to get him undressed before the chemical cycle loaded.

And naturally, just because fate could be a cold hearted bitch that way, the chemical cycle pinged, indicating it was ready to begin.

_Shit. Shit. Shit!_

The rest of Herman's buttons pinged off into empty space. The action drew a scandalized squawk from somewhere underneath the jumble of clothing as he tried and failed to yank the man's sweater, shirt _and _undershirt off at the same time.

Who even _wore _undershirts anymore, anyway?

Hermann seemed to catch onto his urgency though because a microsecond later his pants pooled around his ankles, revealing about a _mile_ of creamy pale skin – all knobbly knees and colt-like thighs before he was kicking his pants away. The man's movements were unsteady as he hung onto the faucets for dear life, struggling out of his ruined shirt before he caught his eye through the rising steam.

It suddenly occurred to both him_ and_ his dick that Hermann was standing in front of him in nothing but a soggy pair of truly heinous looking briefs and a whole shit ton of brand new skin to explore. It also, not so coincidentally, occurred to him that his libido had absolutely _terrible _timing.

_God this was so FUBAR._

He opened his mouth, ready to say something funny, something stupid or reassuring, anything to get that look – vulnerable and overwhelmed – off the man's face. But despite his good intentions he ended up getting distracted by the water droplets that were pearling off the man's stupidly long lashes.

"Yes, well, if you'll just-" Hermann began, sounding extraordinarily _not _calm as he flicked a hand towards him, clearly gesturing for him to get the hell out when the chemical cycle hissed – rattling around in the wall as the first gel pack mixed with the water and started hissing out the shower head.

"…I think its best you leave me to it-" the man finished weakly, clutching the tattered remnants of his shirt in front of him like a damsel protecting her virtue.

But he didn't move. He couldn't. Well, he _could, _but really, that was _completely_ beside the point. The room smelled like chlorine, like old socks and rust. He could practically taste it, mineral-rich and heady as he breathed it in. The man's expression grew surprisingly speculative as the seconds dragged, tongue darting across his lower lip like he was about to say something but thought better of it.

And then, just because this was _him, _naturally he had to go and ruin it.

"Do you want me to stay and scrub your-" he asked, eye brows wriggling suggestively as Hermann's face went from speculative to emotionally constipated in less than two seconds flat.

"New-_ton_!" Hermann screeched, sounding so much like his old self he actually laughed aloud, heart loosening a bit from the vice in his chest as he scuttled out of range of any flying objects.

_He was going to be alright. He had to be. Hermann was-_

"Fine dude! Going! _Going!_" he yelled, doing an about face the same moment Hermann showed him his back, letting what was left of his shirt slip from his fingers as he braced himself against the wall, ducking his head under the spray.

As soon as he was out of sight, he raced to the phone, practically vaulting over the counter, doing a series of awkward skips and jumps to avoid the trail of Kaiju goop that was already starting to drip-dry along the edges of the examination table.

He had to call...uh. _Someone_.

_Wait._ Who exactly did he call for something like this? Was this a general alarm? Or was it something more to do with containment and sanitation? Hell, he didn't even know if it was toxic. It didn't seem like it, but then again, he couldn't be sure.

The Shatterdome was running on a skeleton crew anyway, it'd been like that since they'd sealed the breach, so who exactly was he going to call?

'_Ghost busters!'_ his brain sing-songed unhelpfully.

He rolled his eyes, chewing on the inside of his cheek, fiddling with the receiver of the PA system. He puttered around unhappily, killing time as he tried to figure out what his next move should be - eventually having to come to terms with the fact that his brain had come up empty as he listened to the sound of water gurgling down the drain in the other room.

_plink-plink-plink._

He blinked. _Wait, when had the shower turned off?_

* * *

**A/N #1:** Thank you for reading. Please let me know what you think! Reviews and constructive critiquing are love! – The next chapter should be up in a few days.


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Pacific Rim or any of its characters, wishful thinking aside.

**Authors Note #1:** This is my first Pacific Rim story, so I am pretty much testing the waters. I have not yet had the pleasure of reading/watching any other source material other than the movie itself. So, in respect to that, this story is based on the material we have been given during the movie and the movie alone.

**Warnings:** This story is meant to fit in post-movie. *Contains: adult language, adult content, sexual content, movie spoilers, smut and more!

**Kaiju Goo and Personal Space Bubbles**

_**Chapter Three**_

He made a sound, a pitching not-quite whimper (thank you very much) in the back of his throat, when he turned around just in time to see Hermann exit the storage room in a billow of steam and far too much naked skin.

And, to make matters worse, (he did a double take just to be sure) but underneath a pair of truly heinous grand-dad underoos, the man was sporting a stiffy of generous proportions. His fingers twitched at his sides, jaw somewhere on the floor at his feet as he realized he was still gawping.

Hermann's pupils were dilated, that was what he noticed first – okay, _second,_ he was human, so sue him. The tendons in his neck were standing out, _straining,_ as a blanket of red flushed across his skin, trickling down from cheek to chest, kissing the man's pale skin like a full body blush that only _deepened_ the longer the moment stretched.

He couldn't help but drink him in. The man was all lean lines and graceful arcs, thin and skinny like he'd expected, but not without tone, not without the muscle some might assume he lacked considering the large shirts and ill-fitting sweaters Hermann seemed to prefer. He had a wiry sort of build, uneven in the arms where the muscle had built up – dominant where he wielded his cane. But it only served to make him look that much more enticing, alluring even.

And oh shit, were those _freckles_ on his breast bone?

_Christ, he was such a goner._

But the man didn't even seem to notice. Not him, the nakedness, none of it. Instead, he was looking around the lab with a strangely pleased expression, the faint upturn of his lips benevolent and indulgent as he squinted, trying to make out the equations on the blackboard. The hand holding his cane quivered, vibrating in place like some naughty child in the middle of a sugar rush.

"Hermann? Man? You okay?"

It was only when the man turned that he noticed his leg. And in spite of the panic, in spite of everything else that was going on, something in him just kinda _stilled. _Guilt, of all things, rippled through him as he took it in, knowing it was wrong, knowing that it was somehow taking advantage even though Hermann seemed to be offering the sight freely. But he knew better, because despite having known each other for years, he'd _never_ seen the man's leg. In fact, Hermann coveted the idea that he even _had _a problem jealously. He never talked about it, never _ever_ mentioned it. He didn't even know how it had happened, if it was an accident or something he'd been born with, reversible or permanent.

_Not until the drift anyway._

It was only the length of time they'd worked together, and, well, the obvious that had enabled him to put two and two together. He knew how the man moved on both the bad days and the good. He could recognize the furtive bob of the Hermann's throat when he finally gave into the pain and shook out a couple of pills from the bottle he kept in the very back of his drawer. They were hidden in an old glasses case, _disguised, _like the entire thing was something_ shameful_, something that didn't deserve to see the light of day.

Honestly, he'd stayed out of it, respecting the man too much to ever bring it up or even pry when Hermann's limp turned into a hobble. Or when tension ticked in the side of his jaw, well on the way to giving himself a headache whenever he pushed himself too hard. Maybe he should have said something. Maybe Hermann was even waiting for it. But he never had.

Only now, he couldn't seem to stop himself from looking.

Because it _was _ugly.

But it was ugly _and_ strangely beautiful all at the _same _time. And damn him to hell, if that didn't sound like some sort of metaphor.

The man's leg was a of mess of gossamer pale set against a knotted length of scar tissue that spanned from his upper thigh to well past his knee. It was thick and twisted, dotted with splotches of red and white – indications of both old and new incisions – like a mess of flowers in various stages of bloom.

Or maybe it was because it was just Hermann.

Either way, he figured he was equally fucked.

He nearly tripped over his feet as he took a quick step towards his lab partner, skidding on a patch of goo before his brain thought better of it. Something made him stop. He wasn't sure what, but whatever it was had his internal alarm bells _screaming._

_Survivalist behaviour. A default mechanism meant to ensure a species-_

The phone went slack in his hand as Hermann pivoted, using his cane like a rudder as he wheeled around to face him. And the wrongness of it hit him like a hangover on a Monday morning. Because his movements were _too_ easy, far too loose for someone who'd spent half of every day leaning on his cane like it was the only thing keeping him upright.

In fact, if he didn't know any better, it was almost like the dude couldn't even _feel _his leg. Perhaps the stuff had some sort of bonus side effect, other than, well - general creepiness. If he were a betting man (which he isn't, have you seen the economy lately?) he would guess there was something in the goop that acted as an analgesic or at least a numbing agent. He hadn't seen Hermann move this freely in _years. _

Jesus, Hannibal would have had a _field day_ if he hadn't been turned into Kaiju kibble (which was still equal parts funny _and_ horrifying, thank you very much). Just imagining the look on the man's face was priceless enough. To think that, underneath all the fake gimmicks, all the 'add 50 years to your life or penis-size' bone powder junk, they'd actually missed out on something _real. _

Hell, this could have world-wide implications. If they could figure out how synthesize it, it could revolutionize the whole concept of pain management. He'd be lying if he said the scientist in him _wasn't_ piqued.

But Hermann, for his part, just stared bemusedly in his general direction. His head slightly cocked, like he'd never actually seen him before as he stood there, wavering in place. Other than that, the man was just kinda _drip-drying_ across the metal floor. He tried not to stare, _really, _he did. He completely failed, obviously, but hey, at least he tried.

The man's skin was flushed pink, doing that red-glowy thing skin tends to do after a good old fashioned scrubbing. The man's hair, almost _indecently_ ruffled, was standing up in wet spikes, adding a surprising amount of character to that stupid bowl-cut some barber had the gall to call a _style_.

All in all, he was sold. The man had utterly no business being as ridiculously attractive as he was, and _Christ _he was _so _done.

He took off his glasses, pinching the bridge of his nose as he tried to force himself to focus. But when he mashed the lenses back on his face, he actually noticed something. The man's expression was loose, easy and fluidic in a way that almost reminded him of-

"Dude, are you high?!" he blurted, caught between hysteria and laughter as his brain tried to do a million things at once, including eating his own words, because honestly, he was pretty sure, sometime in the last decade, he'd told Hermann to just go get baked.

Hermann's smile only grew wider.

He dropped the phone.

* * *

**A/N #1:** Thank you for reading. Please let me know what you think! Reviews and constructive critiquing are love! – The next chapter should be up in a few days.


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Pacific Rim or any of its characters, wishful thinking aside.

**Authors Note #1:** This is my first Pacific Rim story, so I am pretty much testing the waters. I have not yet had the pleasure of reading/watching any other source material other than the movie itself. So, in respect to that, this story is based on the material we have been given during the movie and the movie alone.

**Warnings:** This story is meant to fit in post-movie. *Contains: adult language, adult content, sexual content, movie spoilers, smut and more!

**Kaiju Goo and Personal Space Bubbles**

_**Chapter Four**_

In retrospect, he could pick out the exact moment where everything changed, when that dopey, spaced-out smile suddenly sharpened. He could probably even put a time stamp on the moment when Hermann's expression had shifted, _tunneled_. The man's focus suddenly warped, clicking into place like the whole 'insert slot a into tab b' thing his old engineering buddies from university used to crack jokes about.

He blinked.

_Hermann didn't_.

"Dude, you okay?"

But if he was expecting a reply, he didn't get one. Instead, the man just fixed him with this look, an expression that could've honestly been anything from constipation to arousal. On Hermann it was hard to tell.

All he knew was that the man was looking around him, _at him_, speculatively - and that he was_ still_ naked, lean, lithe and wiry in all the best ways. In fact, if he didn't know any better, he'd say the man was looking at him like he was a particularly coy little equation that, up until now, had succeeded in eluding him.

Or, you know, whatever it was that got a mathematician's proverbial motor running.

Did he mention Hermann was _still _naked? Cause yeah, _still_ not over that.

Hermann eyed him curiously, _measuring,_ like he was the world's most exquisitely brewed cup of tea and Hermann was trying to figure out how best to enjoy him (a metaphor which, if you asked him, was both disturbing and stupidly hot at the same time.)

And honestly, he wouldn't have had a problem with it, except for the fact that the man's whole 'thousand yard stare' _didn't_ have the same levity and obnoxious temper he was used to. Like when the man was in the middle of some scathing retort about the so-called 'soft sciences', Kaiju groupies or whatever it was that happened to be his gripe of the week. The passion seemed to be misplaced.

Because this _wasn't _Hermann - it _was_, but it _wasn't_. And he didn't know which option was weirder. He could see Hermann in there, staring back at him. He could see it in the way he moved, in the curve of his jaw as the man clenched the muscles there – acting like he was five seconds away from either grinding his teeth or snapping at him. But at the same time, those dark, blown pupils were vacant. Not in the strictest sense of the word, but more like he was overwhelmed, caught in the grips of something he couldn't control.

And maybe, at the end of the day, that was brunt of it. He was used to seeing Hermann in control - in control of himself, his surroundings, his work. Every facet of his life had a schedule, a pattern, but this? This was…well, _wild_.

And while he was all on board with the 'let's discover a new side of Hermann Gottlieb train', to put it bluntly, he kinda doubted that Hermann was going to appreciate it.

Hermann took a step forward. _He_ took half a step back. The man's grin went feral, and really, he didn't foresee this ending well.

He started edging around the side of the room, one hand flailing blindly against the wall behind him, trying to find the emergency alarm. His brain, somewhat belatedly screamed bloody murder about toxins, stray erections and _oh_-

It was only then that everything suddenly fit together. The erection, the spaced out stare, the sudden focus, the decidedly un-Hermann-like behavior, the almost animalistic– oh crap.

_The man had been dosed with __equivalent of alien go-go juice!_

He might have fallen over laughing if he wasn't so concerned for _both _their virtues.

* * *

**A/N #1:** Thank you for reading. Please let me know what you think! Reviews and constructive critiquing are love! – Sorry this is so short; I was kind of at a turning point. The next chapter should be up in a few days.


End file.
